


not codes, memory

by gemnosha



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stucky - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Other, about codes and tws, headcanons, i love it, it's like, it's painful, painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:03:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8906356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemnosha/pseuds/gemnosha
Summary: During the time Bucky was the Winter Soldier and nobody knew. A scene depicting how the words used to activate the Winter Solider are not just codes for a robotic assassin but they're triggers to memories for Bucky.And, an insight to stucky's relationship. Kind of sappy, you can tell there's a good uncharted story there, especially at homecoming.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please give me feedback, I worked really hard on this one. And, enjoy it a fuckload.

Bucky’s eyes are batten down, drawn together by this overwhelming lust for rest. He knows he can’t, though. No, he’s being observed, studied, threatened by a demoralized system of electric therapy dare he simply take a break.

He feels the pipes and wires lodged between his ribs and flesh being pulled out, he fights the need to scream – simply whines silently to himself. 

The familiar creaking of a movable stool places itself by his ear, a sigh follows, and he knows what’s happening. “Soldier,” the voice echoes through his lobes, unable to make sense of anything. _Soldier?_

Then it happens. **“Longing.”**

A senseless tug at his brain from inside him and he wonders, what the fuck is that? Until he can smell it. Like, pancakes overburnt on the kitchen table, the familiar scent of Steve on Saturday mornings before he sits down to drink his coffee. He finds his apparition of a body, unable to control his movement – it’s not real but it’s a memory. His bubbling limbs move like a hologram, sitting across from Steve and watching the skinny mink grimace at the pancakes Bucky made for him. Then he hears his mind whisper the words. He remembers this clearly now, too. Because nothing has changed since that day. 1939. Brooklyn. “Steven Grant Rogers, you are so fucking adorable. I want you, but how the fuck do I tell you when you keep asking me if I got’ some lucky lady again.” 

The memory burns away, he watches the edges of the picture turn to flame in his head. Another tug ensues. **“Rusted.”**

**Boom!** The noise of it tears at their ears, him and Steve. They’re both about thirteen at this point, Bucky thinks. And he lets the memory continue. Both boys are sucking on lollipops and prancing around Brooklyn, unstoppable teenage boys. And, there’s construction all around – places being torn apart because there’s no money to support them yet. The wall street crash still healing. Bucky flicks an arm around Steve, pulls him close and asks, “You ever kiss someone, Rogers?” 

The smaller boy shakes his head furiously, and licks the lollipop. Bucky pulls them to a stop, glances to Steve for a moment. And eyes are traveling from his blue eyes to his cheeks and the curving edges of his lips. His lips glow a reddish hue from the lollipop stains, Bucky's heart falters. “Come here,” he demands, and Steve doesn’t know what he’s asking. But, Bucky holds him by his neck and pulls their faces closer for the two lips to meet a moment apart. “Tricked you,” Bucky lets out a guffaw of laughter, and Steve throws his sucker at him. “Jerk!” 

The boys continue running after each other, no one really sure of what they’ll do once they catch each other but the rusted metals flying around them are enough to keep them from stopping. Flames spark at the edges of memory again but this time Bucky finds himself yelling. _“NO!”_ It doesn't sound like him, though. No, this voice is mangled by a patterned tempo, rising and lowering through trices that are calculated. A scream that isn't really a scream, but a robot possessed by the dissipated free will of a man. 

**“Seventeen.”**

This time the memory struggles. It’s like a flash of lightning. He sees a glimpse of it. He’s pushing on Steve to join him at another fair, to accompany a girl of his liking, to accompany him. He sees Steve refuse and he feels a part of his heart grow ten sizes from relief because… Steve is his. He just hasn't told him yet, even though that was his plan. Come next year, 1935 when we're both seventeen, I'll kiss the punk.

**“Daybreak”** Barely an image crosses his mind, but a memorializing glimpse of the rising sun. He feels his body shift in its dreamlike state to see Steve sprawled naked across white bed sheet, except his pal is much larger now, almost too large but he doesn’t complain. He lets his eyesight travel down to where Steve’s rear curves in the morning air.

Then, flames. Like before the image burns away except it doesn’t stop now. No, it keeps on, combustion and shades of red rustling in darkness. Until he hears Steve’s voice, “this apartment is gonna burn down ‘less you turn that furnace down a bit, buddy.”

**“Furnace.”** The memory came before it was signalled, and Bucky hears his subconscious fade. It's like being gripped by the metallic tentacles, nothing but wires and electricity. He feels pain. A stinging coldness clinging to his chest, and everything he has is being dragged down to a place where all is silent and gone. 

**“Nine.”** Steve’s home late and Bucky knows what happened. The clock buzzes nine o’clock when the door opens, and Steve’s eyes are purple and bruised. 

**_“Benign.”_** And Bucky can’t tell if that’s his voice or the monster triggering the tugging at his brain because he has his fingers on Steve’s scarring, holding a warm, damp cloth to his face and caressing the wound carefully… gently. But in another reality, he also has his fingers on a sniper, and he doesn't know what to do with it.

Then a flash of lightning and a burning image and fragmenting lights, a disco ball. A charge runs through his veins, he feels his limbs shake into a feral state, brandishing without control and with the urge to destroy. His eyes open finally and he can see where he is, he can see the metal and the wires plucked onto his flesh. He wants to scream but his voice is wrapped up with a monstrous hand made from cellophane and bones of metal and darkness. 

**“Homecoming.”** The disco ball is spinning. It’s pretty, Bucky thinks, and then he lets his eyes wander down to where he sees Steve, skinny and awkward and all his swift and uncomfortable limbs being thrown around the place. But, he’s doing his best to be okay for Bucky. Steve hates homecoming but Bucky begged him. Alas, here they are. Steve is pursuing the punch bowl with the usual amount of graceless flinging as he scoops some into a paper cup, and Bucky is watching him, observing him until Steve notices. Big blue eyes staring back. He’s so pretty, too, Bucky thinks. 

**“One.”**

So pretty, he continues until the idea hits him. “He’s the one.” 

“Excuse me, did you say something?” The girl in his arms questions and her curly hair gets stuck to his mouth. 

“Nothing, babe.” He looks on to where Steve was and is now… gone.

The memory fades into dim light. He hears thunder, sees a flash and he can’t tell if it’s a disco ball, or if it’s lightning. But, he’s cold.

**“Freight Car.” ******

A whine releases from his lung. And then, a stormy sky traces the top his brain, an image taking over his vision. There’s a railway road, a mile-long worth of soldiers at his back and he knows that right now he’s saying to himself. “I’m glad Steve wasn’t accepted because if I had to worry about his ass here, too, I might just have a heart attack.”

The tracks start to whistle. “Okay boys, the freight car is here, let’s go.” 

And... 

The memories of Steve are burned out, flashed into a blind and dull darkness of which Bucky Barnes is pulled into. Somewhere in the distance of the void he fills with his naked and fragile self, he hears his pal and he hopes.

But...

Darkness takes over. Bucky’s eyes are shut again. The Winter Soldier opens them. 

“Soldier?” 

It’s almost computerised when it speaks, “Ready to comply.”


End file.
